Computing

In Seiko's poem the huge newt ' something smudgedacross the borders of its life-span, or its species,found by an old woman in an irrigation channel ' hadn't budgedfrom where it hibernated underneath its flat stonein a forest river, clean enough for even it and wasabeto come to being.Tillone day it poked its sleepy nose into the current, stirred its tail, and that alonesufficed to separate it from the peace that there-to-forehad held it thrall. And then, you have to have seen Seiko when she grows ears as an elephant, or antlers as a reindeer, or, in this case,hands come sprouting from her shoulders, squirming in imagined water,to appreciate its struggles, and its whimpering 'Modorenai !' ''I can't get back !', as it was carried off to placesstories tell us all the great adventures reach.But Seiko is a dancer, and this is Seiko's poem, and I ...I'm only trying to write it down : The creature's smothered criesand hopeless floundering, are what the dancers and the poets teachus about time by swimming in it, out before our eyes.